Saturdays
by luluvee
Summary: My contribution to the Fandom Fights Tsunami relief campaign. Unrequited love from the inside of a service window. Instant lust from the wrong side of the stage. One lonely boy and one barefoot girl. No matter how far you run, love will always find you.


**Pairing**: Edward/Bella

**Raiting**: NC-17

**Summary**: Unrequited love from the inside of a service window. Instant lust from the wrong side of the stage. One lonely boy and one barefoot girl with a drink (or two), both with a love of music that brings them together. No matter how far in time and place you run, love will always find you again.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, not Twilight, not any of the songs used in the following story, **NOTHING**. There, that wasn't so hard.

**Notes**: Big, big thanks first to Keeks and trixietraci, betas and besties: love you, ladies. Also, thank you to everyone behind the Fandoms Fights Tsunami team and to everyone who is contributing and donating.  
><strong>Added July 2011 - <strong>I (obviously) wrote this piece as a contribution to the Fandom Fights Tsunami relief effort. This one meant a lot to me because though much of the damage was done to Japan, much of the surrounding countries took a big hit, too. A few weeks after the disaster, I went to the Philippines to rescue some family suffering from the ripple effect of what happened in Japan. I saw first hand just how devastating it all was and this was my little way of trying to say thank you to everyone who donated to the compliation and to everyone who donated time, effort, and/or money to Japan and to all the relief efforts in Asia. From my family to you, Thank You. Enough of the PSA.  
><em><strong>HAPPY CANADA DAY<strong>_, kiddies! I'm posting a shitton of stuff today to honour my country's birthday.

**:: :: ::**

**Saturdays**

**::Edward::**

She sits at the same table every single Saturday. Rain or shine, there she is, laptop open and an extra large coffee – heavy on the cream, heavier on the sugar – in front of her.

The things I would do to her if I could.

Today she's dressed casually: dark blue jeans, tight green tank top, unzipped white hoodie, '_AEROPO_' stitched to the left of the zipper and '_STALE_' stitched on the right. She's wearing her glasses – a sexy little black framed number – and that single piece of eyewear alone is enough to start a volcanic eruption of naughty schoolgirl and librarian fantasies in my head.

The oven buzzer goes off in my ear and I hear Robin snicker behind me. I flip him the bird just as I slip on a pair of heavy duty oven mitts and open the hefty stainless steel door. I barely manage to duck the blast of heat that escapes the cavernous, industrial machine before I lean into the beast to pull out a giant tray of cinnamon buns. As I mechanically place the first tray out of my way so I can get the remaining baked goods out of the oven, I wonder to myself if she'd like something to snack on. She sits for hours, buying nothing but coffee; perhaps she'd like something sweet as well.

My conundrum lies now in what to bring her. I grab the huge piping bag of white icing off a rack on the metal counter and pull the cooling cinnamon treats towards me. With a practiced hand, I drizzle the icing over the sheet of rolls neatly, quickly moving over to the second sheet and topping those, too. I'm still caught up in my mental musings as I switch one piping bag for another, this time chocolate. I wipe off the tip and dress up the cooling pans of tiger stripe brownies. Just as I'm finishing, Robin pops his head into the kitchen.

"Yo, Ed, I got called over to the catering kitchen," he tells me, swapping his black storefront apron for a heavy duty white one. Well, it used to be white. It's more of a mottled grey now, with unidentified food stains across its front. "Rica, Joycie, and Los should be here in a few. Can you hold down the fort?"

"Yeah," I tell him, sweeping near perfect lines of chocolate across the baked goods in front of me. I hear him rustling around behind me. "I'll be fine."

The music playing cuts off abruptly as he retrieves his iPod out of the dock and I barely pause to push mine in, queuing up my 'Work (Mellow)' playlist and plugging in the cord that connects it to the café sound system, cutting off the shitty acoustic radio station everyone else normally leaves on. With one ear and eye trained on the service window that connects the storefront and the café kitchen I finish dressing the baked goods. Wiping my hands on the bar towel hanging out of my back pocket, I head out to the cash to take stock of what's there, what needs changing or refilling, and to greet any incoming customers.

The second I step through the swinging door, my eyes land on her. I tell myself it's because she has the most prominent booth in the place, elevated above the rest of the seating and right in the immediate line of sight of the cash register, but I know better than to believe the lines of bullshit I try to feed myself. I'd notice her if she were sitting at that tiny corner table by the bathrooms. In fact, I have before.

She's got her headphones in, iPod ones if I'm not mistaken. I wonder what kind of iPod she's got. I saved up a shitload just to buy mine and it's pretty fuckin' boss. It's the fourth generation iPod and it's got that nifty new wheel, no ugly looking buttons like Emmett or Katie's third gens. And it's got more than double the gig space than theirs.

My mind progresses from the triviality of what kind of iPod she has to what kind of music she listens to. I really hope she doesn't listen to the shit music on the radio these days. I shudder to think that she may be a fan of that bubblegum poser Britney Spears or those over-heterosexualized boy bands.

I realize that I've been staring at her inappropriately when I hear the clearing of a throat just in front of me. Startled, I sheepishly turn my attention to the customer in front of me and take their order. A sudden influx of patrons follow and then I get shoved back into the kitchen again as my coworkers arrive. It's eight in the evening when I manage to catch a glimpse out into the seating area and my eyes immediately move to where she had been sitting. But it's too late, she's already gone.

:: :: ::

Week after week I try to gather enough courage to talk to her beyond taking her order. I volunteer to take the dreaded Saturday double shift every week in hopes that I'll man up and do something, like asking her out or at least exchanging numbers. Hell, getting her fucking name would be nice. And the weeks that she doesn't show up – though infrequent – kill me because I convince myself that that could've been the day that would've changed everything.

It's been just over two years that she's been coming into the café. Possibly more if she had been coming in to study before I started working there. But the third Saturday of June she doesn't come in. I'm crestfallen, but I manage to go on with my day, reassuring myself that she will be there next week.

She's not.

After seven straight weeks of her absence, I quit the café.

A week later, I'm as far away as I can possibly get from that café and the essence of failure of the one that got away.

**::Bella::**

"And one last time, breathe in… And out." I open my eyes and plaster a smile on my face as I look at my roomful of clients. There is more silicone and plastic and fake noses in this one room than there is at the costume shop down the street. I internally roll my eyes. Rising up from my mat, I channel the serenity I fought so long to attain into my body, my mouth relaxing into a serene smile as I move swiftly to the bar near the door.

"Namaste, Jennifer," I greet as the tall blonde moves towards me. I repeat my salutation to the brunette beside her before handing them each a water bottle.

"I feel great!" Jennifer exclaims. "Thanks again, Bella. We'll see you again on Monday?"

"Monday," I confirm, bidding them farewell and repeating the process with the rest of my clients, watching them file out of the room. As the last lady leaves, I let out a breath of relief, shut the studio door, walk over to the iPod docking station set into the wall and switch out my standard yoga playlist for my personal calming music. Strumming fills the air and I fold myself on to my yoga mat just as the smooth, deep voice follows the guitar.

_I hopelessly, helplessly wonder why  
><em>_Everything had changed around me  
><em>_I'd tell it to your face but you lost your face along the way  
><em>_And I'd say it on the phone if I thought you were alone  
><em>_Why do things have to change?_

I finish my inner cleansing routine just as the last notes fade out, my body going through the motions fluidly. I clean up the room a little as the next song plays, finishing up by rolling up my yoga mat and pulling my iPod out of the dock. I walk over to the staff room and deposit my mat into the purple wicker basket labelled with my name.

"How can you listen to that stuff when you're doing yoga?" Patrice asks from her perch on the counter beside the fridge. She's eating a bowl of granola and yogurt and I head over to the fridge to help myself to some. "It's practically oxymoronic."

I shrug as I lean into the open fridge, searching out the good Greek yogurt that I hide in the back behind the jar or petrified pickles. "After listening to gentle gongs, harps, flutes, and whale sounds for work all day, how can _you_ not?"

"Good point," she concedes.

"Plus, who's the one who practically blasts Chaka Khan so loud after her classes that the coffee joint down the street complains, hmm?"

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it, lady," she teases, unfurling her long, wiry body and standing. She towers over me by a good foot yet I still outweigh her by a good five pounds; a feat considering I weigh no more than one-twenty on a bad day.

"So what are you up to this weekend?" I ask her, making conversation as I pour my favorite hazelnut granola over a happy helping of yogurt.

"I'm working tomorrow and Sunday, remember?" Patrice points out, flipping her dark red hair over her shoulder as she begins to rinse her dish and spoon. She nudges me in the ribs. "Not all of us get weekends off like _some_ people."

"Shut up," I mutter and we stick our tongues out at each other playfully.

"What about you?" she asks, wiping her hands on a dishcloth and jumping up on to the counter once again. "Any big plans?"

I think for a moment before saying no because something is nagging at me in the back of my head. "I think so," I hedge. "I think… Oh! I have to call Alice!"

Patrice just laughs at me and waves me off as I grab my purse out of my basket and dig through it to find my iPhone. Just as my fingers grasp it, it begins to vibrate. I smile, knowing it's Alice and her eerily impeccable timing.

"Don't tell me you forgot!" she squeals in my ear before I can even say hello.

"Oh, hi, Ali!" I reply, the playful sarcasm in my tone deceptively bright. "I'm doing great, how are you? Oh, that's so good to hear."

"Cut the shit, Swan," she giggles at me. This is one of the many reasons I love her: she's always so happy, but not that fake, 'I'm covering up my emotions and pretending to be happy so people will leave me alone' kind of happy; she is one hundred percent genuine in everything she does. "You forgot, I know you did."

"Hey! I didn't forget!" Pausing for comedic effect, I wave goodbye to Patrice and mouth to her that I will see her on Monday. "Forget what?"

"Be serious, B! You're coming out tonight! Remember, Jasper got us a table at _Coast_?"

The proverbial lightbulb goes off. "Right!"

"So I'll meet you at your place at six, we'll get dressed, go out for a drinky-poo, then meet up with Jas at _Coast_ at eight."

I know better than to argue with her so I agree, making a few wardrobe demands of my own in exchange. We fight over those but concessions are eventually made and I make my way out of work with a smile on my face. There is something about the night ahead that is already getting me excited.

:: :: ::

I should know better. Alice's idea of 'a drinky-poo' is bar hopping our way to our final destination. It's eight forty-three and I've had nine vodka limes at seven different establishments and we are only now just arriving at _Coast_. I'm thankful that I spent many a high school and college years building up my alcohol tolerance or else Alice would've left me in the dust three bars ago. I'm also thankful that the drinks were strong because I'm feeling absolutely no pain, which is a major plus in these death trap heels she conned me into.

"Okay," she says, and I am amazed at how precise the word comes out of her mouth. Hasn't she been matching me drink for drink? Why is she not slurring, the bitch! "I'mma call Jazzy to come out and get up. Up. No, us. Us. I said _us_."

I stand corrected.

I have a one-sided conversation with the taxi driver as he navigates us through Friday night in L.A. I contemplate not tipping him because he's not laughing at my jokes, no matter how lame they are.

When we finally get to _Coast_, I can't even see the entrance because the block is swarmed with paparazzi, all scrambling into action because our cab pulled up and there is a possibility that we are major celebrities and they might hit pay dirt. _Suckers_, I snort to myself. _I ain't no one special!_

Alice and I grin at each other and she tells me that Jasper is waiting outside and that we must survive the throng to reach out ultimate objective. I tell her that she's a fucking nerd who needs to stop loading old Star Trek episodes on to her iPhone and watching them before she goes to bed. We laugh and try to compose ourselves so we don't end up on TMZ as the 'drunk girls of the night' feature. I pay the cabbie, tipping him only five because he sucked, and Alice forces the door open.

"Alice!" "Alice!" "Miss Brandon! Over here!"

I snicker at her as she grabs my hand and squeezes once and I can see in her face that she's trying to suppress her laughter as well. She's a pretty prominent fashion designer, that's how we met. She walked into my yoga studio looking for information for her next line of sports and yoga wear and we've been friends ever since.

"Bella Swan! Bella, can I ask you a question?"

I don't even hear the question directed at me because I am stunned that a pap is calling my name. This is the first time this has ever happened and I just want to burst out into laughter.

Jasper rescues me from making an ass out of myself by appearing through the horde and pulling us into the bar/café.

"Wow, Bells!" he says, pulling me into a hug in the foyer of the place. "Is it true that Kate Hudson got implants _again_?"

"What?" I ask, perturbed. Kate frequents the studio often but I don't think she's ever gotten implants. It's not even relevant in my line of work; I just teach the woman yoga! "Is that what they asked me?"

We laugh it off and Jasper leads into the trendy establishment. It's dim and, from what I can see, much of the furnishings are done in dark woods and dark red leathers. The lights cast a yellowish-sepia tone over the space and the enticing smell of highest quality coffee fills the air even though there are bartenders performing flair with vodka and gin bottles behind the high wood topped bar.

A perky brunette in what seems to be a server uniform approaches us, greeting Jasper as 'Mr. Whitlock' and cutting the through the crowd for us so we reach our seats easier. We finally sit and I discreetly kick off my shoes as I order another vodka lime.

"Bella, this is Emmett and Rosalie Cullen," Jasper tells me, introducing me to the people I didn't even notice were also occupying the space. I wave and tuck my shoes close to me, embarrassed. They wave back kindly.

I'm quiet as the four others begin to make conversation. I like to people watch so I observe the other bar patrons, the waitress as she brings our round of drinks, then my companions for the evening. I gather that Alice and I have missed the first performer of the night, but apparently the next one is really why we're here.

A few more minutes of hanging out and then lights on a small stage directly in front of us brighten, bringing my focus in. A few stage hands set up a stool and a microphone on a stand and Alice is nudging me and hissing in my ear, "It's starting! It's starting!"

I roll my eyes and ignore her and watch as a tall, lanky man crosses the stage with a guitar in hand. He's clearly a redhead, though not one of the soulless ginger-orange types. His hair, which is in deliciously wild disarray, is more of a dark auburn, though the spotlight that is following him brings out the rich, dark red tones. He takes a seat on the stool in the centre of the stage and I am close enough that I can see him grin out to the general crowd, the shadow of a dimple on his cheek endearing him to me. His eyes meet mine just before the house lights dim and his grin disappears in an instant, his eyes instead widening in some sort of surprise. He stares at me – or in my direction, I guess, since the lights have turned down – for another few seconds before shaking himself out of whatever has shocked him.

"What's up with Ed?" Emmett asks, somewhat loudly considering that the conversation through the pub has quieted to a whisper. Ed? Wait a second, is that…?

"Hey, everyone." His silky, smooth voice reminds me of velvet and smooth red wines and cigarettes at midnight. "I'm Edward Masen, thanks for coming out tonight."

Wild applause follows this and I join in. I'm such a fan of Edward Masen. Hell, I was just listening to him today at work! He's an extraordinary artist and it doesn't hurt that he's drop dead gorgeous. Like, I would strut around naked wearing a crown of bacon if he asked me to, he's that good looking.

With no other preamble he begins to strum his guitar and when he looks up it feels like he's looking right at me. I know it's impossible but my heart flutters regardless. But I absolutely melt when he begins to sing with his eyes trained my way.

_'Oh, what the hell,' she says, 'I just can't win for losing,'  
><em>_And she lays back down  
><em>_Man, there's so many times I don't know what I'm doing  
><em>_Like I don't know now  
><em>_By the light of the moon she rubs her eyes,  
><em>_Says, 'It's funny how the night can make you blind,'  
><em>_I can just imagine  
><em>_And I don't know what I'm supposed to do  
><em>_But if she feels bad then I do, too  
><em>_So I let her be_

I join in as the audience begins to sing along with him and he smiles that one-sided dimple grin. The song continues and I'm singing along to the chorus every time it comes around. He finishes 'Her Diamonds' and then he plays more, his long fingers wrapping around the neck of the guitar in a way that's making me wet down under.

I may be drunk – I have yet to find the bottom of this deceptively short vodka lime glass – but I think I catch him staring my way at least twice through every song. It's almost as if he's looking for something or someone, his piercing stare not matching his carefree attitude onstage.

"You guys have been great so far tonight," he says after taking a drink of water from the glass on the floor by his side. "And to thank you for being such an awesome audience, I've got some new stuff for you tonight."

I won't admit to gasping and going ape shit crazy like almost every other straight woman and gay male in the joint. I swear I didn't.

"I wrote this one a long time ago, actually," Edward continues, his left hand travelling up and down the fret board, playing something unknown on its silent strings. He's looking my way again and I swear he's talking right to me. "But I think tonight… Tonight is a good night for you to hear it."

He pulls away from the mic and begins to play a beautiful yet complicated looking series of notes on his instrument. Then he leans forward again and begins to sing.

_I don't think I want to go to LA anymore  
><em>_I don't think I want to go to LA anymore  
><em>_I don't know what it's like to land and not race through your door  
><em>_I don't think I want to go to LA anymore_

I'm breathless just listening to him but the way he seems to be looking straight at me has me just short of swooning. I don't know if my heart is racing or if it's breaking, he's just that talented.

_I'm gonna steer clear  
><em>_I'd burn up in your atmosphere  
><em>_I'm gonna steer clear  
><em>_'Cause I'd die if I saw you  
><em>_I'd die if I didn't see you there  
><em>_See you there_

The song soon ends and I can't even applaud, I'm so thrown by this man on the stage. Jasper startles me, whistling with two fingers, and Emmett throws in a couple of hoots before his wife smacks him and tells him to shut up and, to my utter befuddlement, to stop embarrassing him. I don't have an opportunity to question her, though, because he continues this set of new music and I don't want to miss a single second of any of it.

"All right folks, if you'll just hold on a second," he says into the microphone, standing and handing his guitar off to a stage hand. Two more wheel in a baby grand piano and start fiddling with cords as he speaks again. "This last one is another song I wrote a long time ago. I wrote this for this girl I knew. Well, sort of knew. The one that got away, you could say. This was all the stuff I wish I could've told her, said to her, stuff like that." He scratches the back of his neck before shrugging and directing the crew to tilt the piano a certain way before pulling the mic into place.

He drags his stool up to the keys and plays a few strong chords that reverberate beautifully through the now quiet space.

"This one is called 'Amazing'."

_Say a prayer, say a little common sense  
><em>_Stay right there, stay right there in our defence  
><em>_Give a little bit, give a little bit more  
><em>_Just a little bit, babe, a little bit more_

Edward's eyes flash open and, as he begins to sing what I deem to be the most beautifully soulful chorus I have ever heard, I gasp. I'm no longer in a bar, twenty-five feet away from him. I'm right in front of him and he is singing straight to me and to me only. _God, how I wish he were singing to me!_

_Stay away, stay close enough to care  
><em>_I love that name, yeah, I see it everywhere  
><em>_So can we get along, can we get along much more  
><em>_Just a little bit, babe, a little bit more_

_You're amazing, you're amazing and it's true  
><em>_No one can save me, no one can save me like you do  
><em>_This is crazy, yeah, it's crazy but it's true  
><em>_Baby, save me, baby, save me like you do_

He plays on until the last resonating chord and the whole place is silent for a second before erupting into the loudest, most raucous applause I've ever heard anywhere. But I am silent, stunned by the beauty of his words and, if I'm being honest to myself underneath all these layers of vodka and lime mix, just by _him_.

Jesus Christ, how much have I had to drink?

"Bella!" I feel a hand on my wrist and look down curiously, absently noting that the house lights have come back on. My hand is gripping my drink glass so tightly that my knuckles are white and I wouldn't be surprised if there is a crack in the crystal. I look up and see Alice's concerned face. "Are you okay? You were shaking for a minute there!"

I stare at her for a full five seconds before breaking out into my best impersonation of a smile. It's pretty damn good, I've had years of practice. "Oh, I'm good, Ali. But I think I should cut myself off now."

Actually, I could probably use a pretty stiff drink right about now because I'm kind of unnerved by my own behaviour. But she buys my bullshit and the worry lines on her face disappear, replaced by a giddy grin.

"Wasn't Edward just so amazing? Oh, God, I can't believe Jazz didn't tell us he'd be playing tonight! Oh, God!"

I feel myself agreeing with her but a part of me is a little deflated because his set is done and I know that this is probably the closest I will ever be to his amazing-ness ever again.

I jump, startled out of myself, when I hear and feel Emmett's meaty fist meet the tabletop. I look to him and he's got the brightest grin I've ever seen on a man.

"All right, just got a text from the man of the hour himself," he announces, shoving his Blackberry back in his pocket and signalling the waitress, who bounces over. He demands another round jovially, adding an extra two beers to the order, then turns back to us. "He's almost finished up whatever post-show rituals he's got going on back there."

Jasper jumps up and leans over Alice to give her a kiss on the temple. "Duty calls," he says before fighting his way through the mass of people.

I am confused by their words and actions but I don't pay enough attention to it because I am still bereft at the fact that my one night with Edward Masen (albeit with about a hundred others, as well) is over.

Managing to calm my inner emotionally raging drunk, I divert my attention to Alice and Rosalie's conversation.

"Is he always like that in real life?" Alice asks her, her eyes wide and fists balled up under her chin, the poster child of fangirls everywhere.

"Like what?" Rosalie laughs incredulously. "Emo?"

"Emo? How dare you!" I had to agree with Alice on this one. He wasn't emo – he was dark and mysterious— "… And broodingly sexy!"

Couldn't have said it better myself, Ali.

"Yeah, well, brooding or emo, whatever it is, it's made him fucking famous," Emmett laughs, breaking whatever drunken tension has built up.

"You can't blame me," Rose laughs, cuddling up to Emmett's large frame and smacking him lightly in the chest. "I've known him too long to be anything but biased. Of the Cullen brothers, I'm always gonna say that I got the better one."

"Define 'better', Rose."

I turn at the sound of the deep, velvet voice and it's like one of those really cliché scenes in those really bad B-movies where everything slows down before fading to black.

**::Edward::**

"Holy shit!"

"Bella!"

"Fuck! Bella! Someone get some water!"

"Is she… Barefoot?"

Four pairs of eyes glare at me and a particularly icy blue pair scare me enough that I back away a couple of steps.

… Right into the waitress carrying the pitcher of water.

Fuck. My. Life.

I sigh, after apologizing profusely, and sit at the other end of the U-shaped booth, watching the chaos. Of course the first meeting I have with _her_ after six years turns into this clusterfuck. Just… Of fucking course.

The second I saw her when I looked out to the crowd… It was like being transported back to 2005 and I was the geeky server at the coffee shop all over again. But with one big difference: she was actually staring at _me_ for a change instead of the other way around. I was so taken aback that I almost turned around to go hide in the old café kitchen like I used to.

"Man, that must happen to you everywhere you go!" Emmett exclaims, snickering at me and handing me a beer. My brother leans back into his seat and watches the chaos with glee written all over his face. I'm never going to live this down, I just know it.

"Shut up," I mumble, taking a swig from the bottle he's handed me. The beer tastes extremely good going down, especially after that nerve-wracking show. I check out the label. Huh, Fat Tire.

It had become increasingly clear to me as I played my set that seeing the ghost of my girl from the café in Philadelphia was some sort of sign. Or omen. Either way, I couldn't help myself as I concentrated every song on her presence. And even though the stage lights cloaked her in darkness, just the immediate memory of her was enough.

I never intended to play those two songs, the ones that I wrote six years ago before I left for L.A. Really. But seeing her there, or at least thinking that it was her sitting in the crowd… I needed her to know. I had written those songs for her and this was my one chance to not be a total pussy. So I went for it. Playing to her, _for_ her, was just so cathartic, like I was really and truly telling her what I was feeling those last days of mine in Philly.

"Oh, my God…"

The familiar groan has me sitting up straighter in my seat. _It __**is **__her_. I'd know that voice anywhere. It's a sound seared into my memory, although those memories are usually restricted to, '_Hi. Extra large coffee, please_,' and a few other inane pleasantries. I peer over to where my sister-in-law, my agent, and the other – much angrier – woman are, crowded around my coffee shop girl.

Oh, shit. Jasper said he was bringing his girlfriend tonight. And that she was a huge fan of mine.

Oh, fucking shit.

"So who is that, um, _chick_, anyway, Em?" I ask, hoping my tone is nonchalant. I pray to whatever gods I can think of that _she_ is not my agent's girlfriend. And I also pray to not be struck down by a sudden plague or stray bolt of lightning for referring to her merely as a _chick_.

"Her name's Bella."

He keeps speaking but the sudden buzz of euphoria in my ears drowns him out. I watch as she rises from the floor, hair the most sexy tangle of curls, and face flushed a deep pink. _Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella_, my mind chants and I know that somewhere out there in the universe a multitude of angels are getting their wings, thousands of kittens are being saved from single-handed masturbatory slaughter, and hundreds of horny housewives are getting off on pornographic vampire fanfiction.

Bella. Her name is Bella.

I'm so insanely gratified at finally knowing what her name is. Though there is a small part of me that is disappointed at just how cliché her name seems to be. She _is_ beautiful. Too beautiful to be a Bella. Bella is the name of a poodle or a teenage girl trying to fish for bad pick up lines at a lame school dance.

Bella.

The more I think about it, though… It could grow on me.

I finally tune back into reality and realize that Bella – yeah, I could definitely get used to it… _Bella_… – has her head in her hands and seems to be crying.

"… Can't believe that I passed out. Like, at his feet. He must think I'm a total spaz or something. Just… Oh, fuck, Allie, get me out of here. I'm so abso-fucking-lutely _mortified._"

She gets up and flees the table, the not-so-angry-anymore Allie following her with an apologetic glance back our way. A jolt of envy runs through me and I realize that I want to be the one running after Bella.

_Do it_, my subconscious whispers._ Do it or else you'll never see her again_.

The apology is leaving my mouth long before I realize that my legs have mutinied against me and I am running after them into the thrush of people. Almost immediately I lose sight of the Allie girl, but I can see the tail end of Bella's bright green dress worming its way through the crowd so I follow. Shouts of 'Edward!' and 'Mr. Masen!' ring dully in my ears but I am a man on a mission and, goddamnit, _I will not lose her again._

I am waylaid by three rabid fans, their bright pink talons and garishly blonde hair offending me as I try to chase after my girl. I quickly break through their ranks but I now have no idea where Bella and Allie Girl have gone. My eyes dart around frantically and I finally catch a break in the crowd that is quickly filling. I rush over that way and fight to find them.

There are more shouts of 'Mr. Masen! Mr. Masen!' but they are easily ignored because I see the back of Allie Girl's bright silver sequined dress squeezing through the rapidly closing glass door. I sprint to catch the door with a sharp pain in my side and my lungs protesting and threatening to walk off the job.

I really need to start working out more.

I am shocked into reality when the swarm of bright lights and more shouts of my name startle me. The paparazzi. Shit.

Bella is cornered by three of them near a shrub, Allie Girl held back from her by two more. Allie Girl is angry again and I'm almost afraid to go over that way but I just have to get to Bella so I flash the paps a grin before ducking around them to get to her.

"Shhh, Bella," I whisper when I finally get to her, holding her from behind and shielding her as much as I can from the popping flashbulbs. "It's okay, I've got you."

She turns in my arms and is sobbing, blubbering nonsense into my shirt. I hug her close to me and run my hands up and down her back in a move that I hope is soothing. I coo more hopefully comforting things into her ear and when she finally looks up at me I still find her beautiful, even red-faced with mascara raccooning all over her bloodshot eyes. As she registers my face, she looks horrified, like she did back at the table when she turned around just before passing out.

"I'm not wearing shoes," she whispers, mortified. I smile.

"It's okay," I tell her. "I've got you."

I pick her up bridal style and use her bare feet to "accidentally" hit any photographers that are getting in our way. I make it to the curb and luckily enough there is a line of taxis waiting. I jump into the closest one, situate Bella on my lap, and tell the cabbie to gun it as I give him my address.

Bella is sniffling and hiccupping into my shoulder, one hand clutching my shirt over my heart as the other is tangled into the hair on the nape of my neck. I hold her closer to me, revelling in her even though this evening has been shot to shit. We spend the majority of the ride like that, with her looking at me every few minutes and breaking into a fresh round of tears after studying my face for a few seconds.

We're about three miles away from my house when I feel my phone vibrate incessantly against my thigh. Bella has just started another crying jag so I reach awkwardly around her and grab my iPhone. It's Jasper.

"Hey, man."

"Where are you guys? Alice said she saw you carry her into a cab." I can hear a woman shouting in the background and he sounds frantic. Oh, shit… Bella _is _his girlfriend.

"We're heading over to my place," I tell him, hugging Bella tighter to me. I might as well get my kicks in now while I can. "You guys come on over." I hear Emmett laughing his usual smartass guffaw. "And tell Emmett to shut the fuck up."

The taxi drops us off at my place and I throw the cabbie two fifties, slamming the door as I tell him to keep the change. I race up and across my porch and as I'm juggling Bella and trying to punch in the lock code for my front door, she speaks.

"You can put me down now." Her voice is dull and scratchy, from all the crying I assume.

"Uh… You…" I really don't want to put her down. "You're barefoot."

Her mouth makes a small 'o' and she nods, clinging on to me a little tighter as I try the code again. I hear the lock click and I push my way through the door, kicking my shoes off in the hallway and traipsing slowly towards the living room. Her eyes are wide as I put her down on the nearest couch, taking in her surroundings with a look of surprise. I quickly inventory the place to see if it's a sty. It's not and I'm lucky.

"It looks so…" she's still slurring slightly and squinting her eyes, scrutinizing every inch of the room. For some reason it makes me nervous. "_Normal_."

I laugh, mostly in relief. "I'll be right back," I tell her, and leave her to her scrutiny as I walk to the kitchen.

I let the tap run for a minute as I breathe in and out slowly to try and calm my racing thoughts. Beyond bringing her a glass of water, I have no fucking clue as to what I should do next. I shove a glass under the cold stream of water and think over my options.

Right. First thing's first, find out if she's Jasper's girlfriend. If she isn't, find out if she's _anyone's_ girlfriend. If she is, on either of those counts… Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get there. I walk back to the living room, determination fuelling every step I take.

"Here, this should help," I tell her, handing her the glass. Our fingers brush briefly and a jolt of warm realization runs through me.

_It's her. After all this time it's really her_.

"Thanks." She takes a long drink and I can't help but watch the way her throat moves as she swallows. "I, um, need to call Allie and Jasper."

"They're on their way here," I tell her.

"You can sit down, you know." She blushes, probably from how ridiculous it must sound that she's offering me a seat in my own home. It's then that I realize that I am towering over her, watching her intently, and that it must come off as really creepy.

"Sorry." I go and sit across from her in the armchair that matches the loveseat that she's sitting on.

I'm acutely aware now that I'm being weird as I stare at her unabashedly from where I'm seated. The sound of the clock ticking seems like it's amplified to Dolby Digital Sound proportions and she's looking everywhere except me but I study her anyways.

She's filled out more since the last I've seen her. Back then she used to be really thin; not unhealthily so, but in comparison to now she was a rail. But now she has all these wicked curves in all the right places: her hips have rounded out more, accentuating her tiny waist and her tits… Well, those are just as damn near to perfect as anyone can get. Her cheeks have smoothed out and her lips, God, her lips… They must have gotten plumper, fuller, or something.

Fuck. I really hope she isn't into plastic surgery. Because that would kind of suck. I like my girls natural.

I feel the need to apologize but just as I open my mouth to do so I hear commotion out on the porch then the door swinging open.

"Oh, Lucy, I'm home!" Emmett bellows. Does he not realize how gay he sounds when he's impersonating Ricky Ricardo? His footsteps echo against my floorboards and then he's standing in the doorway of the living room. He looks between Bella and me for a moment. "Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do!"

"Emmett, shut up," I tell him but I don't think he hears because the whirlwind that is Allie Girl tears through my space, blathering a mile a minute and holding Bella's face in her hands. My brain hurts just trying to catch up.

"What happened tonight, man?"

I look up and see Jasper standing beside my chair. I want to answer his question, but there's no feasible way that I can think of to explain without coming off as an absolute psycho. I stare at him with my mouth open for a minute before running a hand through my hair and bolting for the kitchen. Luckily Jasper follows me before I have to turn around and call out to him.

"It's her," I say, pacing the length of my kitchen. "Bella, I mean. She's her. God. It's been six years. Six years! And—"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on a second." I stop and stare at him. "You know Bella?"

"Yes!" I'm exasperated. "Well, sort of. Yes. No. Not really. Yes and no. No? Maybe? I mean, I know she loves coffee. Extra large, two cream and five sugar. She studies a lot. Practically never looks up when she's focused on something. She needs music when she reads. I remember. There was one afternoon when her iPod died on her and she was complaining to someone on the phone that she had to cut her studying short because the sound of people was driving her insane. She had these bright blue streaks in her hair. The blue was her favorite, she had them in the longest, though the purple was a close second. The last time I saw her was the fourth of June, 2005. She tripped over a dog as she was coming into the café and ordered a double espresso to go with her coffee. Fuck, should I make her coffee?"

I brace myself in front of the sink because, after all that word vomit, I feel like really puking my guts out. The silence in here is deafening and I chance a look over to my agent and friend. The sight of his expression makes the urge to vom grow stronger because I realize that I probably sound like I stalked his girlfriend once upon a time.

"She doesn't drink coffee anymore," is all he tells me before walking away and leaving me more confused than I ever thought I would be in my entire life.

**::Bella::**

I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming and this is not real, just some heinous nightmare and I will wake up.

If I keep telling myself it's true, it will become true, right?

"Bella, are you okay?"

I can hear her but I somehow can't make myself respond. God, poor Alice. She sounds so worried. I can feel her hands cradling my face but I can't really see her, either, just a fuzzy haze. I can hear Edward fucking Masen in the next room, talking to Jasper, but I can't make out the words. It's a rant, though. I can tell. Probably asking Jasper why this batshit crazy woman is in his life.

I'm in Edward fucking Masen's living room.

Edward fucking Masen carried me here himself.

Fucking Edward fucking Masen.

God, I wish I could be fucking Edward fucking Masen. But he's probably had enough of my shit for one lifetime.

:: :: ::

I don't want to wake up. I know I'm going to have a killer hangover, I can already feel the throbbing and I haven't even moved. I'm trying not to breathe but it's not working. The bed I'm in is so soft, I feel like I'm floating. I want to float, I don't want to deal with a hangover.

Deal with…

Oh. Holy. Fucking. Hell.

I shoot up and instantly regret it, moaning at the motion then moaning again at how loud I am. God, someone make this stop, please!

"There's water and Advil on the nightstand."

I cringe because the voice is loud, booming, like I'm in a theatre and I'm wearing a hearing aid set to the highest volume. Ouch.

"Here."

There's rustling and then I feel something cold nudge my arm. I take it without opening my eyes and then four tablets are placed in my other palm, the warmth of foreign skin touching my own somehow easing the sting in my head. I blindly take the pills and slug down as much water as I can manage, as quickly as possible.

"Slow down there," the voice urges me, the warmth of skin returning to my back, the palm rubbing small circles. I pry my lips away from the bottle and take a chance at opening my eyes. The blinds are drawn, thank God.

"So, do you remember last night?"

I look towards the voice and the water and Advil almost make a reappearance.

Fuck. Edward fucking Masen. I remember now.

"Oh, shit, please don't pass out again," he says hurriedly, diving on to the bed and grasping my shoulders. We're face to face, almost nose to nose, and I'm beginning to hyperventilate.

"I kind of want to die right now," I rasp out, shutting my eyes again in mortification. I can feel the heat of my blush radiating from me. He could probably roast marshmallows against my cheeks right now.

"What?" Even the crease between his brows is fucking gorgeous. "Why?"

"I'm so fucking embarrassed," I share. "After last night and then now… You must think I'm absolutely insane."

He mumbles something that I don't catch, shaking his head down at the bed spread and letting go of my shoulders. Strangely, I feel cold without his touch.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, no," he tells me, shaking his head still as he looks up at me again. Holy shit on a shiner, his eyes are green. Like, impossibly green. The kind of green you only see in cartoons and in really expensive emeralds. "Nothing. Just talking to myself."

"Oh." Cue awkward silence. Cue awkward cure to awkward silence. "My breath must stink."

"What?" he says again, his adorably confused face back. Realization dawns on him seconds later and he stands from the bed and motions to the ensuite bathroom. "Oh, sorry. There's mouthwash and new toothbrushes on the vanity if you want."

I nod and run to the bathroom, prepping the toothbrush then shoving it into my mouth as I pop a squat on the toilet to take care of business. When I look into the mirror as I wash my hands, I almost choke on toothpaste foam because I look motherfucking hideous. It's a miracle Edward Masen hasn't run away. Then again, he probably won't be in the other room when I get back. I fix myself as best as possible, which isn't much but it's all I can do not to look like a complete psycho.

When I exit the bathroom I'm surprised that he's there, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He's probably thinking of a way to politely tell me to get the hell out of his house. He looks up when he hears me step closer to him and I'm temporarily lost in those impossibly green eyes again.

"Bella?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Would you…" He looks so unsure. How can he look so nervous? This is a man who has played stadiums and arenas full of screaming, demanding fans, and he's nervous about asking me to leave his house?

"_Shit_," he mutters. I decide to put him out of his misery.

"Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair," I tell him. The look of surprise on his face doesn't really register because I'm busy looking for my shoes. "Are Alice and Jasper still here? I mean, I'll just catch a cab by myself if they left—"

"What? Yeah, they're still here, but they're still asleep, last I checked," he tells me. I hear the slight creak of the bedsprings and then I can feel him standing behind me. He places a hand on my elbow and I stop what I'm doing. "Why are you leaving so soon?"

I'm confused. Doesn't he want me out of his space? "Don't worry, you'll never have to run into me again. Unless you're thinking of taking up yoga. Well, even if you do, I can probably avoid you for your sake. And who's to say you'll even go to my yoga studio? There are hundreds of them in Los Angeles. Like you'd even think of walking into mine. I should probably—"

"Bella!" I stop my blathering and he turns me around. He towers over me, but not in an intimidating way. "I was trying to ask you if you wanted to come out for breakfast with me?"

I'm dumbfounded. After all the shit I pulled last night, Edward fucking Masen wants to have breakfast with me?

"Don't say no," he pleads and the desperate look in his eyes along with his next words have me nodding yes out of pure intrigue. "I just found you, I don't want to lose you again."

I insist on leaving a note for Alice and Jasper and he lends me a pair of flip flops because no way am I ever wearing those cursed heels ever again. We walk out of the house silently and he leads me over to the sedan parked in his driveway. It's silver and flashy looking but then I see the emblem on the front grill and let out a small chuckle.

"What?" he asks me for the millionth time this morning. It blips when he unlocks the doors with his remote and he actually walks me over to the passenger side, opening and shutting the door for me before getting himself settled in the driver's seat. "Is there something wrong with my car?"

"I…" I don't want to sound like an assuming bitch but I internally shrug because, let's face it, I haven't exactly made the best impression on him anyway. "It's just… A Volvo? Really?"

"What's wrong with my Volvo?" he asks, laughing slightly as he reverses out of the drive. God, his laugh sounds so nice. "It's a great car!"

"It's… A Volvo!"

"I want to be offended," he chuckles, "but I'd rather see the look on your face when I make you rethink your stance on Volvos."

Before I can ask what he means, he's pressing a button and I hear a mechanical whirring above me.

"Volvo makes convertibles?" Obviously, since the wind is suddenly whipping through my hair.

"You better believe it!"

We're silent the rest of the drive but it's not wholly uncomfortable. When we park at an out of the way greasy spoon diner, I want to be surprised but I tell myself not to be. Edward Masen is not at all turning out to be the man I thought he would be.

"Seat yourselves, I'll be out in a minute," a waitress calls from the kitchen. The place isn't crowded but there's a decent number of people here. We head toward the only empty booth in the place.

I'm surprised that Edward isn't accosted by anyone here. Even the teenaged girl who brings us our water and cutlery just nods at us and hands us menus, telling us that someone named Sue will be with us in a second. Edward instantly hides himself behind the laminated pages, not giving me a chance to ask him the questions that have been brewing in my head the whole drive here.

"Welcome to the Clearwater," the waitress says, startling me slightly. She's wearing a pale pink uniform and a white apron, the nametag 'Sue' affixed to her chest. "What can I get you two to drink?"

Edward gestures to me. "I'll have coffee. And keep them coming."

"Uh, me, too," Edward stutters out. He looks at me strangely. "I thought you didn't drink coffee anymore?"

"How did you know that?"

"Jasper told me."

I want to ask him to elaborate but he cuts me off and orders, one Saturday Morning Special Country Neptune, and one Saturday Morning Special Country Montreal, both with wheat. With a smile and a pat of her hand on the tabletop, Sue leaves us.

"What if I didn't want a Saturday Morning Special?" I ask him, faking a pout. I know I'm only joking but it occurs to me that he might think I'm being a brat. "Not that I don't trust your taste. What's a Saturday Morning Special?"

"Eggs with two types of bacon, sausage, hash browns, toast, and a fruit bowl. I hope you're hungry."

My stomach roars in answer and he smirks, the deep, cavernous dimple on his one cheek making a quick appearance. I can feel the pink creeping up my skin.

"And what was all the Country Jupiter and Montreal stuff?"

"Country Neptune. It's like Eggs Benedict, but better." I want to ask how but there are other things more pressing that need to be attended to.

_Rip the Band-Aid, Bella_, I tell myself, taking a deep breath before I speak. "Why would Jasper tell you that I don't drink coffee anymore?"

"Because I wanted to know last night if I should have made you coffee or something." On the surface it seems like plausible answer but something in the way that he's avoiding my gaze tells me there's more.

"What did you mean by 'again'?" He looks up at me, confused, so I clarify. "Back at your house, when you asked me to breakfast. You said, 'I just found you. I don't want to lose you _again_.'"

"I…" he slumps down in his seat, looking almost defeated but definitely unsure. "Just, please don't freak out on me, please?"

He looks up at me, hope in his eyes and I nod, "I promise." I know I'm probably lying.

"You used to go to The Green Beanery café," he says without preamble and I am shocked. "Every Saturday afternoon. You always ordered extra large coffee, two cream and five sugars, and you'd end up staying so long that you would order more than one. You always took a booth if you could, but you'd never, ever take a two-seater table because you liked to spread your books and laptop out around you while you studied. You would never order anything to eat, except on two occasions – once you came in early and ordered a veggie breakfast wrap, and the other time you had a ham and Swiss panini."

He stops when the busgirl comes with our coffee but continues when she leaves.

"You always had your iPod and you couldn't study without your music. And you almost always had your hair down. And you would have these streaks in your hair. Mostly blue or purple but you also had dark green, pink, red, white, and black. But the blue and purple were your favorites. There were always doodles on your sneakers and sometimes on your jeans but you were never the one who did them, it was your friend Angela. You used to have your lip pierced and you liked to chew on the back of the stud when you were concentrating. You would chew your lip a lot after you took it out. Your backpack was this sturdy army issue backpack but you dyed it bright purple. Your laptop was a black Dell ThinkPad and the top was covered in a collage of bumper stickers. In the time that I remember, you broke your wrist twice, broke your leg, and came in with stitches six separate times. The last time you ever went to The Green Beanery was Saturday, June 4, 2005. You were wearing a denim skirt and high top black Converse and a long sleeved white t-shirt. You tripped on a husky puppy as you were coming inside and you stayed out there for twenty minutes until the owner came out just so you could apologize. You stayed and studied for four hours and thirteen minutes, had six cups of coffee, answered your cellphone four times out of the twelve times it rang, and dropped your favorite pen in the garbage by accident but got it out before anyone else could see you picking through the trash. When you left, you stopped and admired the building for a bit before you got on the bus."

What. The. Fuck.

All I can do is stare at him while my hands absently shred a paper napkin to pieces. As he was speaking, his hands positioned the salt, sugar, and pepper shakers in front of him, moving them around to his liking as he avoided my open mouthed gaze. The silence between us grows and it becomes its own separate entity at the table with us. Sue should come ask it if it wants anything to drink.

I mean, what the fuck do I say to all that? This amazingly gorgeous, fuckhot man across from me just revealed that he used to stalk me six years ago in Philadelphia. I don't know whether I want to melt into a puddle of Bella-goo or run away, screaming at the top of my lungs for a restraining order.

"I was saying goodbye."

He looks up at me in surprise. Don't worry, bud, I'm just as surprised as you are. But now my mouth is going and it doesn't look like it's stopping any time soon. I never had control of that unruly part of my anatomy. I regret not trying harder.

"To the building," I say. "I was leaving Philly for New York and I wanted to say goodbye. I had been going there for so long, it felt a little weird knowing that I probably wouldn't ever step foot in there again."

My mind is working a mile a minute and I'm about to ask a question when Sue comes and drops off our plates of food. It all smells heavenly and I realize again that I am ravenous.

"You want the crab or the smoked salmon?" he asks me shyly. He motions between the two giant platters in front of us.

"Crab, please," I reply and he pushes one dish in front of me as well as nudging over a giant bowl of fruit salad.

We eat in silence. It's a little tense but I can ignore it to sate the famished beast within me. The food is fucking delicious and I barely manage to control the porn star moans when I bite into the first biscuit topped with crab meat, poached eggs, and hollandaise sauce. Holy shit, better than Eggs Benedict indeed. I devour every single crumb and I surprise myself when I find enough control to not lick the platter when there's nothing left. I look up as I dab at my mouth with a new napkin and I see Edward stabbing the pieces of fruit with his fork repeatedly.

"Well, anyway," I say, using my sarcasm to try and break the ice. He just flinches. I sigh and wait until he looks up at me again, the impossibly green eyes clouded over. I want to hug him but I'm still sort of weirded out by the whole situation. "Who are you, Edward Masen?" I ask softly.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "My name is Edward Anthony Masen Cullen, I'm twenty-seven years old, and I'm a Gemini. My parents are Carlisle and Esme Cullen and I have two siblings, Emmett, who you met last night with his wife, and Kate. I was born in Chicago but I grew up in Philadelphia. I went to Penn as premed but I dropped the medical dreams and got my undergraduate degree in Music Education and Music Theory. I dropped out of teacher's college and came to L.A. when an opportunity came up to write music."

"That doesn't answer any of my questions, Edward," I reply, although I somewhat enjoy his nervous ramblings.

"I know," he sighs again. "God, how have you not run away from me yet?" I don't answer so he continues talking. "I worked at The Green Beanery."

The clatter of metal on laminate alerts me to the fact that I've dropped whatever utensil was in my hand. He what?

"You… What?"

"I used to work at the Beanery," he says again. "Mostly in the kitchen but I took your order a few times over the years."

Years? "Years?"

"Yeah… Just about two years. Give or take."

I wrack my brain for any memory of his face and I feel ashamed that there is none. Surely I would've noticed someone as fucking hot as him, right? Then a fuzzy picture plays in my brain.

"Tall," I say slowly as I try to sort the picture out in my head. I'm such an idiot, of course he's tall. "Tall and… You used to wear glasses. And a leather cuff bracelet. You never said a word to me outside of asking for my order, even though one guy who worked there used to try to charm his way into my pants even though I turned him down every single time."

"Robin," Edward chuckles. "Yeah, he was a cocky son of a bitch sometimes."

"Your hair used to be brighter red."

He shrugs. "It got darker as I grew older."

I smile at him and, even though it's been one hell of a start, I have a feeling we're going to be okay.

**::Edward::**

"Bella…" I sing in a whisper. She just snores lightly at me and rolls over with a small grunt. I chuckle and trace a finger down her spine, loving just how soft her skin feels under my touch. Today is going to be a good day. I have plans. But to make my plans work, my girlfriend needs to wake up.

"Bella," I sing again, a little louder this time. I move up on the bed and place kisses on her bare shoulder. I'm pretty sure it'd be rude to start rubbing my cock all over her ass while she's still asleep, right?

"Mmmphmm," she groans, trying to squirm away from me and halfheartedly batting away my face. "Leave me alone. I'm sleeping."

"But I have plans," I whine. I grab the flailing hand and entwine our fingers. "Plans that start with a little… _Breakfast in bed_."

She rolls over with a smile on her face, her eyes still closed. I trail kisses from the top of her breast, up her neck, then finally to her lips as I cover her warm, naked body with my own. This, this right here… This will never get old.

My mind shifts slightly and I revel in the miracle of her. I don't know if it was fate or serendipity, but after all, I did end up with the girl. And not just any girl: I got Bella.

Hmm… The Miracle of Bella… Sounds like a good album name.

I'm brought back to pleasant reality when I feel her hands on me, one travelling the expanse of my chest, the other already getting down to business and stroking my cock between us. She squeezes lightly, making me moan, and I lean down to kiss her lips. Our tongues dance together lazily and I slide two fingers down her clit and across her soft, warm, wet pussy.

"I want to feel you come inside of me," she pants, lifting her hips to wrap her legs around me. I smile against her lips. Even after two years, she's just as impatient as ever. But I guess she always has been. I deny her demand, though, because there's nothing better than watching her come, and I wouldn't be able to properly do that if I were inside of her.

And we all know I love to watch Bella.

I pump my fingers in and out of her, curling them and changing the tempo every so often. Her face is divine, her eyes opening and scrunching closed, the cleft in her chin deepening then ebbing away as her jaw tightens. Her breaths become more and more shallow as I continue to manipulate the most intimate parts of her.

Soon her whole body begins to tighten and I know she's going to come. But, no matter how many times we're together, I'm always amazed by her. It's like… If there was a God, I would be seeing His divine plan every time she reached the highest point of her climax.

Man, I am one cheesy motherfucker.

She comes, my name the softest scream ever to leave her beautiful – and natural – lips, and I'm struck once again into awe at just how lucky I am. I bend to kiss her one more time, my fingers leaving her pussy to suck them into my mouth. She tastes delicious and I'd never think of wasting any part of her.

When I finally slide into her, the feeling that fills me is more than just pleasure, it's an absolute contentment. I feel complete, something I haven't felt before in my entire life. She's so tight, I can feel her down to every panting breath she takes.

"Oh, Edward…"

"Bella… Fuck, Bella…"

"Love… You… Oh, God, yes, I love… you…"

Hearing her say those words… It's not anything physical that makes me come, it's hearing her say those three words to me. I bury my face into her neck, my hips sliding against hers as my fingers brush intense circles across her clit, prolonging her pleasure as I seek out mine.

"Fuck! God… Love you, too, baby."

:: :: ::

"I can't fucking believe it."

I pull Bella along with me eagerly up the street. The sounds and smells are the same, briefly fooling my mind into believing that only eight hours have passed, not eight years. The same sign bearing similar specials is standing outside the shop, a few dogs tied to the convenience post just beside it. The sound of Bella's incredulous laughter reminds me that I am no longer the loser going into work and hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl of his dreams; I am the guy who was lucky enough to get a chance at having her instead.

"Edward, what are we doing here?"

I just chuckle and tug her along a little faster, Artemis Green and Apollo Bean barking in protest as she drags them behind her. They speed up their pace to match ours but then Artie's halting our progress, her hackles rising at the unfamiliar dogs mere feet away.

"Aw, don't worry, baby," I coo as I bend down and pick up our miniature Alaskan Klee Kai. Her bright green eyes are still slanted in suspicion but she licks the tip of my nose anyway. She's so protective of us, regardless of the fact that she's only about a foot tall. "The other doggies will stay the hell away from you, I promise."

She barks happily, appeased at my attentions, and acquiesces to being placed back on the ground with her Siberian Husky brother. Bella has the leashes tied to the post and gives them both one last kiss before I drag her into the familiarly unfamiliar space.

It smells the same and I smile. The similarities between past and present pretty much end there, though, I realize as I look around when we join the line up to order. The place is much bigger, having taken over the old flower shop next door and using that floor space and including a harbor-side patio. It's busier than I ever remember it being, and the bar has expanded. Part of me is itching to go behind the counter, throw on the good old black apron, and hide beside the industrial oven as I sneak peaks out the service window for Bella.

I'm really glad that this place didn't turn into a Starbucks or a Dunkin' Donuts.

"Hey, welcome to The Green Beanery. What can I do for you today?"

You have got to be shitting me. I hear Bella cough in surprise, too. "Robin?"

It really is the smarmy bastard. I kind of missed him.

Bella and I order then grab a table on the outdoor patio, bringing Artie and Beans over to where we're sitting so that Artie doesn't have to pretend to play nice with the other dogs. Our little snob.

A server brings us our drinks and Robin eventually comes over to talk to us. Turns out he dropped out of film school, went into management, then bought the whole business, the catering company as well as the café. He opens his mouth once or twice, almost ruining my plans, but I give him my death glare. He shrugs behind Bella's back a couple of times and I jerk my head towards the kitchens and he says he'll see us later.

"I can't believe Creepy McPervyston owns the joint now!" Bella laughs, reclining in her seat and leaning her head on my shoulder. Beans has his head in her lap and Artie is sitting in mine while the two of us sip lemonades in the bright June sunshine.

"I can't either," I agree and share a laugh with her. I was wondering who the hell RJ was and how I could get in touch with him without being conspicuous. Thankfully, though, this makes my plans even easier.

We lounge for a bit, soaking up the sun and trading memories of our years in Philly before we found each other. When my phone vibrates, though, I make an excuse to Bella about going to the bathroom.

"Hey," I say to Robin as I meet up with him by a non-descript 'Employees Only' door. "I still can't believe you own the place now."

"I can't believe it either myself sometimes," he laughs, patting me on the back. "So that Jasper guy is your agent?"

"Yep. Agent and best friend." He wanted to be around so badly for this but it was impossible considering Alice had just given birth to the twins last month. "So, are you the RJ I'm supposed to get in touch with?"

He nods. "Why all the secrecy, dude?"

"Just a little surprise for Bella," I tell him. I'm surprised he didn't recognize her, but then again it has been eight years. He points out the small stage to me and tells me he'll be running the sound system himself. I'm confident he won't fuck this all up for me.

I walk back to our table and drop a kiss on Bella's cheek, ruffling two sets of fur as I go, and pick up my guitar case as I pass our table and head for the stage. She's got this look of 'what the fuck?' on her face but I just smile and wink, arranging the stool and microphones on the small stage at the corner of the patio. Robin tosses me a couple of cables and I plug them into the right places before taking a seat and running my left hand up and down the frets of the guitar.

"Hey, everyone," I greet and I can hear multiple gasps in the crowd, although there is only one that matters to me at all. I look over to Bella with her mouth gaping and eyes wide, and smirk. "I'm Edward Masen. Thanks for coming out today."

**::Bella::**

That sneaky little shit. That sneaky little shit and his sneaky little plans.

His fingers begin to play on his guitar and it's a song I'm only barely familiar with. He was messing around with the chords for the past few weeks but he wouldn't let me hear the lyrics. I guess I know why.

_My stupid mouth has got me in trouble  
><em>_I said too much again to a date over dinner yesterday  
><em>_And I could see she was offended, she said, 'Well, anyway,'  
><em>_I'm just dying for a subject change_

I don't know whether to throw my muffin at him or not, but I sure can't help the giggles that are spilling out of me. I'm shaking so much that Apollo has moved his head to Edward's vacant chair. Edward's green eyes are sparkling in the sunlight and his one dimple is teasing me.

He may be Captain Backfire, but he's _my_ Captain Backfire.

I'm treated to his absolute deliciousness as he serenades me from across the patio, an acoustic mix of some of my favourites as well as some things I've never heard before. There are girls fawning at the table next to me and quite a crowd has gathered outside the perimeter of the outdoor seating.

"So I have one last song for you," Edward says, the impossibly green greens burning into me with purpose. His fingers weave across the strings in front of him, playing a soothing melody. "See, today means a lot to me. Eight years ago today I lost the love of my life."

There is a chorus of sympathetic 'aws' but his grin just grows as he holds back a chuckle and winks at me again.

"I lost her right here in this very coffee shop." He shakes his head before continuing. "But it's okay because I found her again. I found her again and this is something I wrote for her. I want to sing it for her here, today, so that way this date won't ever have bad memories connected to it ever again."

_Forever could never be long enough for me_  
><em>To feel like I've had long enough with you<br>__Forget the world now, we won't let them see  
><em>_But there's one thing left to do  
><em>_Now that the weight has lifted,  
>L<em>_ove has surely shifted my way  
><em>

_Marry me  
><em>_Today and every day  
><em>_Marry me  
><em>_If I ever get the nerve to say hello in this café,  
><em>_Say you will,  
>Say you will<em>

Tears are brimming in my eyes as I realize just what this song is. Artemis is standing on my lap, nuzzling my cheek as she licks at my tears, and Apollo's nose is nudging at my shoulder. It makes me laugh a little that I'm being comforted by our dogs when I don't really need comforting, but maybe a sharp pinch to make sure I'm not dreaming.

There is raucous applause when he finishes and he props his guitar up against the stool, striding towards me and digging around in his pocket. Artie tries to jump to him but is stopped by her leash, so she waits with her tail wagging wildly beside me.

"Hello," he says huskily, impossibly green eyes on mine as he gets down on one knee in front of me. He doesn't need to say anything else I don't even need to see the size of the rock he's shoving under my nose. I just grab his face and kiss him. Hard.

"I will," I say, the words coming out in between my ridiculous hiccups against his lips. "I will."

**:: :: ::**

**Notes:** Two things. **One**, I have ideas to expand this story in the future. The _far_ future because I want to finish up some of my other stuff first. **Two**, in honour of **Canada Day** (one of the bestest days of the year), the first person to review that can offer me the best bit of Canadiana (anything awesome Canada-related) will get something written especially for them from me, whether it be a corny poem or a o/s or something. :) Share the love, lovelies.  
>Love, Lulu<p> 


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